The inscription showed faint signs of wear. As his fingertip brushed over it, He Zheng wondered how many years Wei Zhenye had kept it.
He placed the ring back in the box. As the lid clicked shut, the door opened again.
His mother, He Linlin, entered, carrying groceries. After setting them down, she glanced toward the stairwell, then turned to ask, “Who was that guy who just left?”
He Zheng subtly hid the box in his hand. “Xiao Wei,” he replied.
The suit jacket still lay on the floor. He Linlin’s eyes paused on it for a second — her expression shifting slightly. She’d never met this “Xiao Wei,” but she knew of him. She’d thought their connection had ended with the letters — she hadn’t expected them to actually meet again.
She had many questions, but asking felt inappropriate. After hesitating for a long while, she finally said, “You two… are together?”
“No.” He Zheng shook his head. “Not yet.”
The word yet made her frown slightly. “What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”
“It means… as of now, we haven’t confirmed our relationship,” he said truthfully.
She was silent for a moment, then muttered under her breath — too softly for him to hear, “Good. I hope it stays that way.”
Changing her shoes, she picked up the groceries and walked toward the kitchen. She thought the conversation was over — until she heard He Zheng murmuring behind her, almost to himself:
“If Xiao Wei and I were together… would you approve?”
Her back stiffened. The plastic bag in her hand crinkled under the pressure of her grip. She didn’t answer, pretended not to hear, and walked straight into the kitchen.
……
He Zheng didn’t eat dinner. He went to bed early, lying there in silence. Unable to sleep, he picked up his phone and started scrolling aimlessly.
After the storm on Weibo had passed, the flood of followers who’d come for the drama now left just as quickly. His fan count, which had once surged, dropped sharply. Two small film crews had sent casting invitations — eager to capitalize on his brief burst of popularity.
He Zheng didn’t even have the energy to reply. He was exhausted, but his mind was a chaotic mess, too crowded for rest.
After flipping through every app on his phone, he finally opened WeChat and stared at the pinned chat at the top — no new messages.
He started to wonder if Wei Zhenye had deleted him.
To confirm, he typed a simple “1” and hit send.
Thankfully, there was no red exclamation mark.
He exhaled in relief. Then, on a whim, he opened Wei Zhenye’s profile — and was stunned to find that the once-empty Moments page now had posts, quite a few of them.
In the past, He Zheng hadn’t understood why he’d been blocked from seeing them. Now he did.
Because every post, every photo, note, livestream clip, even the silly meme images —
they were all about him.
The first day of the livestream, Wei Zhenye got his contact information.
He took a screenshot of the friend request and immediately posted it on his Moments with the caption:
I added him on WeChat. I’m so awesome.
Their first phone call lasted only four minutes and eight seconds.
Wei Zhenye treated it like an entry in a diary, adding his thoughts afterward:
He called me. So suddenly. I wasn’t ready. I hope I didn’t come off too bad.
He had also replayed, frame by frame, the video of He Zheng spinning around in a red dress — over and over again — then posted it to his Moments with the sigh:
When will he be mine?
Every little thing that happened between them, Wei Zhenye had recorded.
There was no doubt — his whole world revolved around He Zheng.
Scrolling all the way to the bottom of his Moments, He Zheng noticed that before his first livestream, Wei Zhenye had only posted twice a year at most —
either practicing calligraphy or posting snowy streets and lamplight at night,
no captions, a life that looked repetitive, dull, and quietly suffocating.
Just then, a notification popped up at the top of the screen.
Wei Zhenye had replied to his message.
Under the “1” He Zheng had sent, there was a curt, awkward “2.”
He Zheng had no idea what to say next —
but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t be sleeping that night.
He got out of bed, threw on a jacket, and while changing shoes at the door, scrolled through his contacts and called Li Ru.
“How’d it go?” Li Ru was still wrapped up in gossip.
“Where are you now? Did you two meet?”
“Don’t ask,” He Zheng sighed. “It’s over.”
“Why? He didn’t want to see you, or did you see him and get disappointed?” Li Ru pressed.
“Come on, tell me!”
“Come out for drinks. Old spot,” He Zheng said, hanging up.
Hearing the noise, He Linlin came out of her room, leaning on the doorframe, eyes half-closed with sleep.
“It’s so late — where are you going?” she asked quietly.
“Grabbing a meal with a friend,” He Zheng replied. “Want anything for breakfast tomorrow? I’ll bring it back.”
“You’re not coming home tonight, are you?” she caught the hint, her expression complicated.
“Are you going to see Xiao Wei?”
The moment those words left her mouth, He Zheng felt a headache coming on.
“Not him,” he said perfunctorily, opening the door quickly and grabbing his keys as he left.
The old drinking spot was a street stall on a food street.
When He Zheng was seventeen or eighteen, he’d come here to drink whenever something bothered him — sometimes all night long.
After meeting Li Ru, he’d brought her here a few times too.
She didn’t mind the rough, noisy vibe — she could even get drunk and challenge the guys at the next table to handstand contests.
He Zheng ordered two cases of beer and leaned back in his chair, waiting.
The midnight breeze wasn’t strong, just enough to lift his hair slightly.
From across the tables, a few curious gazes lingered on him.
He caught a girl’s voice carried by the wind: “Is that a guy or a girl?”
He Zheng’s looks didn’t match his personality —
he was sharp, striking, with an air of aggression that was even stronger when he wasn’t smiling.
When Li Ru arrived, she saw him sitting there, face cold and expressionless —
he might as well have had “I’m in a bad mood” taped to his forehead.
Li Ru dragged out a plastic chair and sat down. “What happened this time?”
She popped open a beer and flipped over one of the paper cups on the table, just about to pour when He Zheng flicked it lightly with his fingers — sending it askew.
“What are you doing?” she frowned. “Didn’t you call me out for drinks?”
“This time, you’re watching me drink,” He Zheng said.
Usually when they drank, one of them stayed relatively sober to make sure they both got home safely.
That person was always He Zheng.
But tonight, he wanted to be the one who could finally drink without restraint.
Li Ru gave a small “Oh,” and reluctantly set the bottle down.
“So your Top Supporter didn’t break your heart then.”
“He can’t hurt me.” He Zheng took her bottle, raised it, and drank.
“I don’t like him that much. He couldn’t possibly hurt me.”
“The problem is — he probably really likes you,” Li Ru said, sounding amazed.
“It’s been, what, years? And he’s still hung up on you.”
He Zheng wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So you think I should be with him?”
“I think… he’s pitiful,” Li Ru admitted after a pause.
“Maybe he fell for you too young, couldn’t quite figure himself out.
That kind of love — how should I put it —
most adults don’t even experience something that pure. But it’s too extreme.”
“He’s probably already thinking about meeting your family, marriage, all that.
If you do decide to be with him, you’d better be ready.
And if you ever break up, one of you is definitely going to lose your mind.”
He Zheng closed his eyes wearily. Li Ru hadn’t disappointed him —
she’d summarized his own thoughts word for word.
“None of that’s really the issue,” he said faintly. “The future can wait.
What’s bothering me now is… I don’t like him that much, but it’s not like I don’t feel anything either.
Just—can that tiny bit of feeling really carry us that far?”
“Don’t accept someone just because you’re touched,” Li Ru said frankly.
“That’ll only hurt both of you.
If his love feels too heavy, and yours too light —
if the feelings aren’t equal — then just ask him straight up:
does he want fairness or love?”
He Zheng gave a bitter smile. “He’d never choose fairness.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Li Ru said.
“What if, after you’re together, you start liking him more?
If he’s really that charming, your love for him will only grow, not fade.”
He Zheng’s thoughts were a tangled mess.
He gave up trying to untangle them, tipped his head back, and poured the rest of the bottle down his throat.
When it was empty, he cracked open another and kept drinking.
“You’ve never been in love, have you?” Li Ru asked suddenly.
“Mm.” He Zheng nodded. “Never really been interested.”
Li Ru gave a knowing look. To her, He Zheng was the type who kept everything bottled up — indifferent to everything, unimpressed by everyone.
Aside from acting, nothing really moved him.
He looked like a seductive troublemaker on the outside, but inside, he’d already seen through the world — like a compassionate monk detached from desire.
“Do whatever you want,” Li Ru said, stretching her arms.
“I can only help you this far.
Honestly, you’re the only one who isn’t after something.
With the kind of money your Top Supporter has, any other actor in our company would be milking him dry.”
He only heard the first half of her sentence. Picking up his phone, his fingers hovered in mid-air for a long time before he typed, word by word, a WeChat message to Wei Zhenye: [Where are you?]
He stared at the screen, waiting for a reply. Three minutes passed—no response. Li Ru was still talking nonstop beside him, but all his attention was on the phone. So when Li Ru suddenly fell silent, as if someone had covered her mouth, he didn’t notice a thing.
Not until someone patted his shoulder—neither lightly nor heavily.
He turned around and saw Wei Zhenye standing right behind him, looking down at him calmly. “Here.”